We've had enough of pretense in this house. I've been working to get
things on a sane basis and I believed you were sensible enough to help
me. But you're just like the rest of them--you're like all of your sex.
You've got to have your silly play-time. I may as well tell you now that
you don't give me any treat when you give me turkey, for I don't
like it."

"Oh, dad!" cried Kate; "you do! I've seen you eat it many times! Come,
really it's a fine dinner. I helped to get it. Let's have a good time
for once."

"I have plenty of good times, but I have them in my own way."

"They don't include me!" cried Kate, her lips quivering. "You're too
hard on me, dad,--much too hard. I can't stand it, really."

He sat down to the table and ran his finger over the edge of the
carving-knife.

"It wouldn't cut butter," he declared. "Martha, bring me the steel!"

"I sharpened it, sir," protested Martha.

"Sharpened it, did you? I never saw a woman yet who could sharpen a
knife."

He began flashing the bright steel, and the women, their day already in
ashes, watched him fascinatedly. He was waiting to pounce on them. They
knew that well enough. The spirit of perversity had him by the throat
and held him, writhing. He carved and served, and then turned again to